Someone Else's Story
by gobackchief
Summary: More angry, frustrated and bitter than ever before, Draco is focusing completely on his plans to avenge his father’s imprisonment. Polyjuicing himself as Ron, he intends to grill Hermione for information that could give him fuel or help his scheming along


**Disclaimer:** Everything, characters and universe, belongs to J.K. Rowling, not to me.  
**Author notes:** First of all, big big props to both my betas, **Ananas** and my sister. I would also like to thank everyone who gave me feedback for earlier drafts of this story, especially **Lonicera**. By taking your advice into consideration, I hope to have improved the story, somewhat.

**SOMEONE ELSE'S STORY**

It wasn't like Draco _wanted_ to be Weasley. The mere idea was absurd. No, Draco had a plan. The transaudio was going to get into Granger's bag, somehow, and hopefully he'd get her to spill something he could use himself. 

It was early Sunday morning, and, as usual, everyone was sleeping in. _Granger_ was bound to be in the library, however, and it was the only time this entire week he could be sure to run into her alone. The timing was perfect, and an opportunity like this wouldn't present itself to him at least until next week. He had to do it now. He opened up the bottle and slipped a strand of Weasley's hair into it. The potion took on a particularly nasty shade of green, the same as snot. "Essence of Weasley," Draco thought derisively.

Draco wasn't nervous about it. He had gone through it all with Professor Snape at least three times. He had his broomstick ready, in case he'd get something really juicy, but he was prepared to settle for less. He'd been forced to observe the way Weasley walked, talked and otherwise behaved for years, and he was good at imitating people, he could do a Weasley, of that he had no doubt. Besides, he'd be wearing Weasley's ugly face, and if he only managed to distort it into Weasley's stupid grin, Granger would probably be so pleased to see her precious Weasel King that she wouldn't even notice if he walked with a bit more grace than was his custom. Draco swallowed the potion, smiling bitterly inwards. He'd fool _her_, all right.

The Hogwarts uniform was the same, regardless of houses, but he had taken extra measures, just to be on the safe side. He had borrowed Goyle's shoes. They would fit Weasley's overlarge feet. He had even considered borrowing Nott's uniform for the occasion, but decided against it. Nott's clothes might be more in the state of Weasley-clothes than Draco's own, but at least they were the right size, and Nott was about the same height as Weasley. Weasley always walked around in clothes that were too small, so Draco's own would probably be just perfect, if a little too… well-preserved. Besides, he didn't feel like owing Nott any favours, two-faced traitor that he was. They _all_ were.

They'd turned their backs on him this year, every single one of them. Well… not Crabbe and Goyle, obviously, but they didn't count; they were simply too stupid to know what was best for them. It hadn't been unexpected; he might have picked up the signs by the end of fifth year, if he hadn't been too angry, and focused on personal vengeance, to care even the slightest bit about socialising of any kind. There was that chilly, distant, tone in Pansy's voice, which he had heard only once before, and that was during the first few days following the Yule Ball disaster. There was also the fact that she barely spoke to him, never came over to sit beside him, and only looked at him if he searched her gaze – not that he ever did that; he knew better than to seek his company where he wasn't wanted. Then, there was the compartment on the way back home, empty of everyone except him, Crabbe and Goyle. Convenient at the time, but strange in retrospect. And of course, there was Nott. Funny how he, who had never really been much of a people-person, suddenly seemed to have… _risen in the ranks_ of the fellow Slytherins. Even funnier was the fact that Nott's father had been arrested just like his; and yet, it didn't seem like anyone knew. 

They still stuck up for him in public, of course, it wasn't like they'd forgotten which house they all belonged to, but he had realised that it was a shallow loyalty, one that didn't count for much more than house points or Quidditch. He supposed it shouldn't really have come as a surprise; Slytherins liked Winners, after all. A sudden surge of rage filled him, as the effects of the potion started, deafening him to the pains of the transformation. This was all Potter's fault! He'd show them! He was going to make them pay, for giving him the cold shoulder. They would regret ever thinking of him as a _loser_. They all would!

His resolve reinforced and transformation completed, Draco looked into the bathroom mirror, finding Weasley's face sneering back. He tried on a blank look that suited Weasley splendidly, while smoothing out his hair, the way Weasley did. Weasley had quite thick hair, Draco noted with some irritation. Probably a sign of the Weasley family being closely related to monkeys.  
'Oh my,' the mirror said, in a flirty tone of voice, 'looking handsome today!'  
Draco scowled at the reflection, but bit back his retort. He didn't have time to argue with a stupid mirror, especially not one lacking a proper sense of aesthetic. Instead he put on Goyle's shoes, and left. After all, an hour wasn't a long time and there were so many things he wanted to find out. It would be a shame to waste more time than was necessary.

On his way to the library, Professor Snape's voice kept ringing in Draco's head.  
'Don't do anything stupid. Potter and his goons are perfectly capable of getting themselves into trouble. Just put the transaudio into her bag and leave it at that. Don't do anything to raise suspicion.'   
Well, that was easy for Snape to say. It wasn't _his_ father who was in prison. Of course, Snape had strongly objected to the Polyjuice Potion. 'Too risky,' he had said. And yes, for the transaudio alone, it was. It might not have been too hard to slip it into her bag, or anything else that they always carried, without going through all this trouble. But Draco wanted to find out anything he could. It wasn't like he didn't trust Snape to make the most of whatever he might hear. That was the best thing about Snape, after all, that he didn't bend over back-wards in order to please The Precious Potter, like the rest of them. If they even thought about breaking the rules, like they had so many times before, they would all be in deep trouble, hopefully in it for expulsion. Snape wouldn't cover up for them. The transaudio was transparent, almost impossible to see, but it was all the easier to hear from it, and it would be plugged directly into Snape's office. Yes, all of this was great, except that it would be _Snape_ who would be hearing everything, and not he. And Draco couldn't help feeling that that was quite unfair. It was _he_ who was personally invested, he who had lost everything because of them, and yet, he was the one who was kept wondering, whom everyone passed by, who had to stretch his ears inside out, in order to catch so much as a whisper. Like they all thought he didn't have the _right_ to know.

He had been completely left out of the loop ever since his father's imprisonment. He didn't know anything that was going on. He had no idea what his mother had done with the dark arts artefacts, hidden in their basement, only that they hadn't been there when the Aurors came to raid the Manor. He didn't know where she went at nights, why she didn't seem the least bit worried about his father, or what she, the Dark Lord, or _anyone_ did, in order to set him free. He had asked her once, and she almost made him wish he hadn't.   
'I'm doing what I can, Draco,' she had said in that tone that indicated that there would be no more discussion. And there hadn't been.

With the silent treatment at home over the summer, followed by the hushed voices surrounding him at school, Draco had started to wonder if _everyone_ knew more than he did. Potter certainly did, and whatever Potter knew, his little friends were bound to know as well. The idea of Potter, Granger and Weasley knowing more than he did was making him absolutely furious. Of course, the image of Potter being sent back to the Muggles, tail between his legs; the smug look on Granger's face wiped away as her wand was snapped in two; and Weasley forced to assist with Hagrid's game-keeping duties in order to put food on his family's table, was temporarily satisfying, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to know whatever it was _they_ knew. And that was the real reason why he had insisted on the Polyjuice Potion. He figured that if he could talk to either of them, as one of them, they would tell him something. Anything.

As usual, the library was almost empty at this hour, and very quiet. He didn't see her anywhere, but he was sure she was there, somewhere. She wouldn't want to miss any early weekend hours of studying, after all, or she might not be able to jump up and down in classes, like a ridiculous five-year-old, next week. He had noticed she usually sought out secluded tables, quite far away from those big ones in the centre of the library where he himself used to sit, so he should probably start looking behind the bookshelves.

It was a good thing really, that she was so damn predictable. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't had these habits. Potter, Weasley and Granger were usually inseparable. Honestly, it seemed like the three of them couldn't exist without one another. "Co-dependant, clingy and needy, the lot of them," Draco thought disdainfully, and nearly kicked a chair, which was placed too far from its table, and consequently in his way. It would have been one thing, if they only hung out at Hogwarts. No one wanted to come off as "the weird outcast, with no friends," even Draco could understand _that_. However, it seemed like being stuck together day and night, for most of the year, simply wasn't enough for the three of them, since both Potter and Granger evidently had to get to Weasley's so-called home as quickly as possible once the holidays started. Of course, they both had the misfortune of living with Muggles, but then again, the Weasleys were hardly what you would call a proper Wizarding family. The lot of them had been there, at the Quidditch World Cup, ruining his own experience, with their savage behaviour, ill-bred, raucous laughter, shrill, annoying voices, disturbing every other person in the box and talking far louder than what was seemly. Draco still got angry when he thought about it.

Suddenly spotting a bushy head, deeply bent over a table filled with books, Draco had to stop himself from tripping over. She was only a few feet away, but he had been so deeply immersed in his own thoughts that he had almost missed her. She had her back turned towards him, which was a good thing, because there was suddenly a jolt in his stomach -not that he was nervous or anything- but he realised he needed to think things over a little bit more before he approached her. He had to do a believable impersonation after all, and it hit him that he didn't really know the first thing about how Weasley interacted with Granger when the two of them were all alone.

Speaking of which, what was the situation between Granger and Weasley? Were they… _dating_, or "just friends"? Weasley undoubtedly had a soft spot when it came to her. Saying something about Granger was one of the surest ways to provoke him; it was years since Draco had figured that out. And wasn't it just a tad suspicious the way he acted around her, always rising to her defence, always saving her a seat? And he was certainly vulgar enough to date… or whatever… someone like her. He didn't have any wizarding pride, after all, or any pride for that matter. He didn't care about the unwritten rules or conventions; the fact that he would mix himself with a Mudblood in the first place was proof enough for it.

It was also perfectly clear that he didn't care if he made a fool out of himself. The guy had asked a Veela to the ball, after all (Draco was still bitterly regretting having passed up a perfect opportunity to ridicule him for that), and, of course he'd made a complete spectacle of himself at the actual ball. No, Weasley had no class, that much was obvious. He would probably do all sorts of… inappropriate things with her, if he got the chance. On the other hand, Draco had never actually seen them kiss, or hold hands or any such things couples usually did. Maybe she didn't like him? She had brains, after all. But, nevertheless, he couldn't deny that there was something about the two of them, which made him wonder. They always seemed to be together, for one thing. Invading each other's personal space… holding their heads way too close together… casually touching each other, like it was normal; all things he wouldn't dream of doing with Pansy, had she still been friends with him. It was sickening really, the way the two of them behaved.

The fact that Draco didn't know whether he was supposed to impersonate Granger's boyfriend or mate, was beginning to unnerve him more and more by the second. If he was, did that mean she would expect some sort of… physical… approach? But then, what if he did anything like that, and they weren't dating, and he was acting completely out of place? Draco's stomach tightened at the prospect. And even if he was and she did, what if he did it all wrong? Of course, he was sure there wasn't anything the two of them could do, that he couldn't, but the fact remained, that there inevitably were things that only the two of them could know about. Which led to the question he had been pondering for quite a while: what could he say, and how much could he ask her, without raising suspicion? He would simply have to follow her lead -on everything- there was nothing else to it. 

And so, Draco resolutely stepped right up in front of her.   
'Hermione,' he said. It felt a bit weird calling her by her given name like that, but he didn't have time to reflect any further on that, because she jumped in her chair, looking up at him with a startled expression.  
'God, you scared me!' She didn't sound too pleased. 'What are you doing here?' She glanced down at her watch. 'And at this hour?'  
'I came to study.' He had blurted out the first thing that came to mind, unable to mask the indignation in his voice. And, too late, it hit him that this had been the wrong answer to give. Granger was frowning at him.  
'Without books?' Damn, he could have hit himself!  
'Well, this _is_ a library,' he said, trying to rectify his mistake. 'Hang on, I'll be right back.'

Draco could feel her eyes on him, as he made his way to the Potions Section, cursing himself every step on the way. How could he have been so stupid? Couldn't he have come up with something a little bit more convincing than that? But as he found the Potions book for sixth years, he realised that there actually was a way he could make the best of his mistake. He sneaked his hand around the tiny transaudio in his pocket. Granger might think Weasley was acting unusually ditzy but she'd buy into it. He wasn't exactly the brightest bloke around, after all. Returning to Granger's table where she was still following him with a disapproving gaze, he left the book on his side of the table, and leaned over to snatch her bag, before she could do anything about it.  
'You don't mind if I borrow a quill and scroll from you, do you?' he asked in as casual a voice as he could master.  
'No, go ahead,' she said, still watching him, but at least she wasn't able to see what he slipped in there, while gathering the paper and quill. He tossed her bag back to her, and she graced him with another exasperated look. It was actually quite interesting to note how these looks Weasley got from her, were full of annoyance, suspicion and disapproval, and yet they were so different from those she usually reserved for himself.

After carefully placing her bag beside her, she returned to her studies, leaving Draco with no other choice than opening the book he'd just borrowed and pretending to read it. Great! Was this what he had gone through all this trouble for? To spend an hour in the library, with Granger, studying? "Following her lead", didn't seem to work that well, and he had to figure out a way to take the lead himself. Was there any natural way he could engage her in conversation? Asking her for help with his studies, perhaps? He bet that wouldn't be unusual. Toying with the thought, he leaned forward across the table, skimming through their latest homework to see if there was some ridiculously easy section that Weasley might need her help with. He didn't know how to get a question about Potions to lead to a more… constructive discussion, though, and soon the pretence of studying had him bored and restless. Granger, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten he was there; she was now busy writing an essay, her eyes travelling from book, to paper, book, to paper, like there was nothing else in the world. Once in a while she would pause, suck her quill, or brush her hair back behind her ear, probably thinking about what to write next. But her eyes never lifted from the table. As she'd filled her first scroll, and reached for the second one, her shirt tightened over her bosom, making the outline quite visible. It moved ever so slightly as she breathed, rising, falling, rising again… And suddenly she crossed her arms over it, shooting her chair brusquely backwards.

'Ron!' Immediately, Draco's eyes flew up to her face, his mouth snapping shut. She was looking at him now, all right, a reproachful expression on her scarlet face, and he was feeling his own –no, Weasley's– cheeks burning as well. A moment of very awkward and unpleasant silence followed, during which Draco did his best to look innocent, but by the look on her face it wasn't working at all.  
'You're acting very… funny,' she finally announced. Draco didn't even know how to respond to this, but it turned out he didn't have to.  
'You come here, seven thirty, Sunday morning, you claim you want to study, but you don't even bring your books, and you sit here and,' at this point Granger had begun blushing again, 'disturb me, instead of getting any work done!' She had said all of this very fast, and it seemed she was now catching her breath. He was just on the verge of retorting, when:  
'What is it you want, Ron? Clearly you're not _really_ here to study.'  
For a short second, he wondered what answer she expected to get, but then he realised his opportunity.  
'I wanted to talk to you. About Harry.'  
'Harry?' Confusion marked her expression for a moment, and something else –disappointment? But then concern overshadowed everything else, and Draco hoped he would get lucky, this time.  
'What about him? He hasn't been having those dreams again, has he?' Dreams? Granger and Weasley were discussing Potter's _dreams_, when they were alone? And here Draco had worried about how to approach, thinking they might be dating… that settled it, they clearly weren't; they couldn't be if their number one topic of conversation was Harry-I'm-so-famous-everyone-get-on-your-knees-to-worship-me-Potter's dreams. It was the only clue she left him with, though, so he had to grab it.  
'Yeah, I think so.'  
'You _think_? You don't _know_? What makes you think so, has he been talking in his sleep again?' Draco was feeling more disgusted by the second, but he couldn't do anything other than go along, so he only nodded in response. She was looking at him expectantly.  
'Well? What did he say?'  
'Oh, I'm not sure, unintelligible words.'  
'But your sure it's _those_ dreams? Not just regular nightmares?' If she was so ridiculously interested in discussing Potter's dreams, she could at least do him the favour of being more specific, Draco thought, wishing he could roll his eyes. Then he could at least get out of this with some new fuel, retelling Potter's silly nightmares to anyone who was interested. But then she went on:  
'Do you think he hasn't been practising? You would know better than I.' Was she talking about Quidditch? But if that was it, why would she say "think"; Weasley would know that, wouldn't he? He was still on the team, after all (no matter how incomprehensible Draco thought _that_ was). So what was she talking about? Anything school-related? Or could it be he was finally on to something? Was Potter practising the Dark Arts? Something that had anything to do with these dreams she was going on about? Then again, it could be something completely boring, Remedial Potions, or something, but he had to find out. Play this carefully; get her to spill, to lure it out of her…  
'Practising…' he began, hoping she'd fill in whatever it was.  
'Yes, Ron, practising! Occlumency, remember?' Occlumency? The word rang a distinct bell in his mind, he'd heard about that brand of magic before, though he didn't exactly remember from where, or what it was for, but the fact that he couldn't place it right away, seemed to indicate that it wasn't anything entirely legal… So Potter was practising this suspicious art form in secrecy, was he? This was finally getting interesting…  
'Why do you look so surprised?'

Sometimes Draco had to wonder if people around him were able to read minds. He thought he was good at masking his thoughts and feelings, but still there were moments where everyone seemed to see through him, and this was one of those occasions. Granger was frowning at him. She was sitting quite still, staring at him with a look that was, there was no mistake, suspicious, and a jolt of panic hit his chest. He couldn't reveal himself, not now! Not when he had gotten this far! Not when he was still in front of her! He knew Granger was not to be trifled with when she was angry. He still remembered that slap she had given him in third year. What she would do to him if she caught him in action, he didn't even want to imagine. She would have proof, he would be all on his own, not even Professor Snape would be able to get him out of it. In fact, he had made that much clear, when he finally gave in to the Polyjuice idea. Draco would be expelled, the rest of the school had it in for him. There would be no justice. The nightmare of being sent back home, his wand snapped in two, his mother's ice-cold gaze and his father's criticism, the further shame of the Malfoy name, no, he couldn't let that happen, not under any circumstances! There was nothing else to it, he had to distract her somehow, come up with something believable, something that would erase her suspicion. A plausible explanation for why Weasley hadn't been acting like himself, maybe he had been nervous, unfocused… _distracted_. And Draco knew why.

The horror of what he was about to do was nothing compared to what might await him if she revealed him right there and then, so he had to do it. Besides, it wouldn't be him doing it. This thought relaxed him a bit. After all, _Weasley_ made a fool of himself every day.  
'Look, I'm sorry, it's just, I got distracted…' he began.  
'Distracted? We're talking about serious things here!'  
'Yeah, but… I lied. It wasn't Harry I wanted to talk to you about. He's fine.' She looked at him with disbelief and her voice was reproachful, when she spoke.  
'You lied?'  
'Yeah, uhm, sorry', he mumbled. She raised an eyebrow at him. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking anywhere but at her. He didn't know how to do this.  
'It was really something else I wanted to talk to you about.' Awkward silence. He still couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Then:  
'Tell me.' Her voice was completely different. Softer, gentler. He forced himself to look at her again.  
'Well, you know. Er, we've been, you know, mates for a long time… and… you know, I've always… sort of liked you, and that stuff.' Draco cringed at his own words. Words he'd never taken in his mouth before, and honest to God, he hoped he never had to use them again. It was like hearing someone else speak. Then he realised that that was exactly what he was doing. This wasn't even his voice, it was Weasley's! Consequently, it wasn't his words either, it was someone else's, someone who would take such drivel in his mouth. 

Granger didn't look like she cringed, though. She was sitting entirely still, her eyes fixed on him. There was no suspicion in them now, only anticipation, and maybe a bit of… fear? Nervousness? But what did she have to be afraid of or nervous about? It was _he_, who had to endure this, who had to say this… and why did she have to be so silent anyway? He was forced to continue.  
'So… I wanted to… let you know….er…how I…' He couldn't bring himself to it. His entire head seemed to be burning and, knowing Weasley, there was probably no way to tell the difference between his hair and his face right now. He dropped his gaze again, fidgeting with his quill on the table. Then, she suddenly placed her hand upon his, and he instinctively pulled his own back to himself, before realising that he was acting very strange indeed, and sending out the wrong message completely, so he quickly put it back on the table, for her to touch again. He looked up at her in time to see that there was a horrified expression on her face, which immediately vanished, as she seemed to get the message, and returned her hand on top of his, as though nothing had happened. He honestly didn't know why he had removed it in the first place, it wasn't like her touch was uncomfortable, or anything, it was just that it had been so… unexpected, he supposed. Finally Granger opened her mouth to speak, her confidence seemingly restored.  
'Yes?'  
Draco felt himself becoming less nervous and more exasperated. Wasn't it obvious what he was trying to say? She was a smart girl, after all, she must have picked up on it by now, why couldn't she help him out here, finish his sentence or whatever, it had to be easier for a girl. Did she really have to drag it out of him? No wonder Weasley hadn't gotten anywhere with her before now, the girl was impossible! Draco was almost inclined to feel sorry for him, for the first time in his life. But then again, Weasley had the advantage of being safe in his own bed, far away from all this now, it was _Draco_ who was reduced to a gibbering idiot, oh, thinking about it like that, Weasley was soon going to owe him big time. And she, she just sat there, letting him humiliate himself all on his own.  
'Look, I fancy you, OK!' The words had come far too quickly, and he'd almost shouted them out. His whole body was burning now, and it didn't help matters that he knew that within only an hour, he would remember all of this and laugh, thinking about how he'd embarrassed Weasley, and not himself, because at this very moment, it was still him, sitting there. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but thankfully, their section of the library was gloriously empty, even Madam Pince seemed to be elsewhere. And the next moment, Hermione's lips were upon his, and his mind went blank.

Draco had never kissed anyone before, though no one else knew, and he definitely planned to keep it that way. Truth be told, he wasn't even sure he had ever wanted to do it. He had thought about girls, naturally, but it had been more… visual, and he hadn't specifically thought about kissing them. Or rather, whenever he had considered it, it hadn't really had any appeal to him. The thought of licking another person's tongue had grossed him out if anything, he used to consider that particular part a necessary evil, one he most probably had to endure, in order to get to the good stuff.

But it didn't feel like a necessary evil now. She had her eyes closed, her hand still on top of his, nose brushing against his cheek, as soft lips gently nibbled his, making the small hairs on his neck and back rise. His cheek and neck were tickled by her hair, as her tongue slowly glided in, tentatively exploring, the sensation of it creeping right down to the tip of his toes. Warmth and cold overflowing him at once, he reached forward to get better access, to do some exploring on his own, and he knew he wasn't supposed to, but it didn't matter, because it wasn't him doing the exploring. It wasn't him.

Draco knew girls took kissing very seriously. He had overheard Pansy and her friends enough times to be sure of that. Frankly speaking, they could be quite picky, brutal even, when it came down to descriptions and comparisons. Though he had never found out where they hid it, he knew they kept record of anyone who had been stupid enough to kiss any girl at Hogwarts. It didn't matter if she was friends with them or not, they always found out, it seemed, and if you didn't know how to do it, you could forget about getting a second chance. But none of that was important right now, because if he messed things up, it would be Weasley who would get the T, not Draco. This thought was exhilarating. He could do whatever he wanted, and there would be no consequences. He took the opportunity to see what her hair felt like. It was softer than he had imagined, and he drew his hand through it, tracing it down her neck, letting his fingers caress the skin right beneath her collar. Someone else was doing all of this. He didn't have to worry about what it felt like, when she traced his lips with her tongue, or the brief moment her breast brushed against his arm. He didn't have to feel anxious about what would happen if anyone saw them, heard them or spread rumours the next day. Everything was safe. It didn't matter that he touched her, or even that he wanted to. And if she suddenly changed her mind, and stuck her nose up in the air, that would be all right, too, because right now he was Ron Weasley and not Draco Malfoy. But it certainly didn't seem like she was about to withdraw. She let her hand run gently through his hair, making his neck anticipate her touch even before she had reached it with the tip of her fingers. He had just pulled his chair closer to hers, when a most unwelcome sight forcefully brought him back to reality, and almost made him bite her tongue in the process. A quarter past eight. Time would be out any second.

'Bathroom,' he blurted out by way of explaining himself, as his chair overturned when he abruptly rose and pushed past her to get out of there in time. He heard her call after him, as he set off for the nearest boys' lavatory, but he didn't pay attention, the only thing that mattered right now was getting out of her sight before it was too late. As soon as he shut the door, he felt the transformation begin. He expected he would have to stay there for quite a while, to make sure she didn't see him exit. And sure enough, it didn't take long before he heard steps outside and a tentative knock on the door.  
'Ron? You're in there?'  
He couldn't answer; his voice might give him away. A firmer knock.  
'Are you alright?'  
He had almost stopped breathing. "Go," he thought desperately, wishing he could magically disapparate her by sheer willpower. "Just leave!"  
Not very surprisingly, she didn't do as he hoped. She began to call again, sounding less worried and more frustrated this time.  
'Ron? Why don't you say something? Is something wrong? If something's wrong, tell me!'  
"Yes, something's wrong!" Draco thought. "And it's going to get worse if you don't leave!" He was careful not to make a sound, though. Not that that made any difference, because Granger had now begun to tap the door non-stop, and quite forcefully at that. He hoped with all his might that she had enough decency not to break into the boys' bathroom magically, but he couldn't be sure of that. And there was no place to hide if she did. Draco felt his insides twist just thinking about the possibility. But then, suddenly, she stopped.  
'Fine!' she yelled. 'That's just fine!' And then, the heavenly sound of someone, presumably Granger, stomping off. He drew a deep breath of relief.

'Sir!' Draco hadn't wasted any time leaving Goyle's shoes back at the dorm. Instead he had set straight to Snape's office, as soon as he had dared leaving the bathroom. He had hesitated at first, embarrassment about what happened just before the transformation still painfully fresh, and disappointed with himself for not having been able to get more out of it all, but then he remembered; there was something he _had_ learned after all. On his way to the dungeon, he had thought it through, and he became more and more convinced by the second; Occlumency was indeed a suspicious activity, it couldn't possibly be allowed at Hogwarts. He had to hear what Professor Snape had to say about that.

Sitting behind his desk, Snape held a finger to his mouth, indicating Draco should be quiet. He realised why soon enough. The voice of Granger was so clear, that Draco had to jump, before he remembered that the receptor was right there at Snape's desk.  
'What, you decided to hide? Changed your mind, did you? Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough, perhaps?'  
He had never heard Granger yell like that before, not even when she attacked him. In fact, from the sound of it, one could almost guess she was even angrier now.  
'What are you on about?' Weasley's voice. He had absolutely no clue, did he? Not yet, anyway…  
Granger was almost incoherent now.  
'You! You! You ran, you…' Was that a sob? Draco's feeling of uneasiness increased by the second.  
'Hermione...' It sounded like Potter was uneasy, too. 'I don't know what you're talking about. But we've just got up, Ron and me.'  
And there was silence. From the look of Snape's face, Draco was allowed to speak now, so he did.  
'Sir, did you hear?' Draco looked around for a chair, feeling a little bit more relaxed now, when the voices were too low or too distant to be heard. He didn't want to be reminded. He needed to focus on what really was important.  
'Yes, it was very touching.' Draco froze. Apparently Snape was talking about the kiss. Once again, Draco felt his cheeks growing hot. There _had_ been a witness, after all. Immediately, he dived for the defensive position:  
'I had to! She was about to find out! It was the only thing I could do! I mean, what would you have done?' He stopped himself abruptly. A long and uncomfortable silence ensued. From the way Snape was looking at him, Draco could safely assume that he would have found quite a different solution. Then Granger's voice thundered once again through the office, a welcoming distraction, this time.  
'I'll kill him! Whoever did this, whatever creep…' Mumbling ensued, undoubtedly from Potter and Weasley. Then, a clear, sarcastic, voice broke through, Weasley this time.  
'Well, let's see: a sneaky, nosy git, who would love to have something on us, anything? Now, who could that be?' Silence. Draco held his breath, too. He knew one person Weasley definitely would describe like that:  
'If you're thinking about Malfoy, no.' There was a final tone to Granger's voice, but that didn't stop Potter and Weasley from protesting.  
'I said no! It wasn't him. It was someone who, someone who… Look, I know it wasn't him, OK! I just know!' Apparently her tone didn't get lost on them this time, because there were no more arguments. It was also clear that Granger's version of what had happened had been… somewhat incomplete, for which Draco was grateful. He and Snape looked at each other in silence for a moment, before Snape seemed to decide that the receptor would be of no more use for the moment, because he shut it down. Then Draco remembered why he had come.  
'You heard about the Occlumency, Professor?'  
'Yes.'  
'Well, what do you make of it, sir?' Snape's expression was unreadable, as always, and when he spoke, his voice was dry.  
'If there was one thing I would have thought all this would have taught you,' he began, a trace of impatience notable in his tone,  
'it would be to leave matters in the hands of those capable.'  
Burning with humiliation, Draco left the office, slamming the door after himself.

He was sitting in Snape's class when he discovered that he wasn't wearing anything, and it was just as unnerving as it always was, to dream that particular dream. Leaning over the desk, crossing his arms over his bare chest, pressing his thighs up to the underside of the desk so that no one would see what he least of all wanted them to see, he hoped he wasn't drawing attention to himself. He was so busy trying to cover up his own nakedness, that he couldn't bring himself to pay the least bit of attention to the class, even though he had that distinct, uneasy, feeling that Snape was demonstrating something particularly complicated, which would surely appear on their exam. Beside him, Potter was taking notes, and when Draco glanced at them, his heart dropped even more. Not only did his notes seem to be accurate and relevant, but he was making a complicated sort of diagram, which Draco imagined he'd never have time to begin now, especially since he still didn't have anything to cover himself with.  
'Lost your desk, did you?' he heard a voice on his other side. Looking around, he found Hermione sitting there, only she wasn't exactly dressed for school, she had red lipstick, and what looked like an evening gown of some sort, cut very low. And she had her hand upon the inside of his thigh. And she was stroking it, further and further up. And she was kissing him. And rubbing him. And they were no longer in class, but in Snape's office, and he had a feeling the door would open any second, only she was on top of him, though she ought to be underneath him instead, didn't she, but her dress was gliding off her thighs and shoulders, and her hair was in some sort of bun upon her head; he wanted to reach it, to let it free, but it was too high up.  
'You'll never get your shoes back, you know', she said with a slight sneer, just before he awoke. It wasn't until he was in the shower, that the full content of the dream hit him. Not only was Granger's part in his dream disturbing, to say the least. And waking up with his sheets all sticky, had been unsettling enough. But what he realised as he washed himself, was that he hadn't been himself in the dream. He had been Weasley.

A knot-tight lump seemed to have formed in the pit of Draco's stomach when classes were to be attended, next week, the prospect of seeing her, making it all the harder to breathe, to relax, to act normal. There were several times when he had seriously considered just faking illness, so that he wouldn't have to face her, or any of them, but something in him, kept driving him out of bed and into the war zone. Maybe it was a morbid curiosity; he couldn't deny that he was wondering how the Weasley/Granger situation would evolve now, and since Granger didn't suspect him, he also wished he could find out whom she did suspect. The rational part of him also knew that even though he had been let off the hook this time, there were no guarantees that Granger would not get second thoughts, regarding his involvement. Potter and Weasley had seemed far from convinced by her persistent denial, and if he did anything unusual, like avoiding the three of them for instance, suspicions might rise again, reinforced. So Draco got himself through the classes, acting like normal: spewing insults, but resisting the urge of using what he knew against them, against her. Like nothing had happened…

Weasley and Potter had been eyeing him closely the first day, but that hadn't been unexpected, and it wasn't something he was unused to, either. Nothing he couldn't handle. What mattered was that Granger acted completely normal. Ignoring him, in other words, looking down her nose at him. Like she really had no idea -which was a good thing. She wasn't acting normally towards Weasley, though, Draco observed with slight satisfaction. They still hung out, all three of them, but she seemed to keep a certain distance, she would sit beside Potter instead, which was somewhat of an improvement, because at least _they_ didn't lean against each other. More evidently, though, she seemed to avoid Longbottom, and, at Potions, he noted that she was eyeing that Boot, whom she usually seemed to get along well with, suspiciously. Draco wasn't sure whether he was relieved or insulted. But as long as she didn't suspect him, he supposed he should be grateful.

Professor Snape pretty much seemed to ignore him, as well. He would only talk to him about school-related issues or prefect duties, never one word about what he overheard in the transaudio receptor. This infuriated Draco; _he_ was the one who had put himself at risk, yet the fruits of success were denied him. He didn't even know whether the transaudio had been useful or not, but by the looks of it, it hadn't. Potter was still strutting around the place like he owned it, and aside from some general awkwardness, Weasley and Granger looked like they didn't have a worry in the world, either. The daily letters from home did nothing to improve Draco's mood. As usual they were only a couple of lines long, and contained nothing of interest. None of them even mentioned his father. Draco suspected he would have to read about it in The Daily Prophet, when his father managed to escape. But there hadn't been a word about Azkaban there, either.

Another thing that contributed to Draco's constant state of unease mixed with rage, was the fact that Granger kept reappearing in his dreams. That first dream might have been easy to dismiss; it was only a distortion of the day's memories, after all. But when he started to have to fight back the emergence of her face from his inner vision, –they weren't even real dreams, they tended to appear right before he fell asleep– he had to wonder. What was happening to him? Why couldn't he erase her face from his subconscious? Was it his fears for being discovered that made themselves known that way?

He had to keep reminding himself of why he hated her:  
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent." Oh yes, _that_ worked every time! The seductive vision from his dreams, exchanged to that insufferable twelve-year-old girl, who had effectively managed to humiliate him not only in front of his rival's team, but also his own. He could still, after all these years, hear her voice; he even remembered the exact tone in it. Many were the times when he had mock-imitated her over the years "_They_ got in on pure talent." But it didn't matter how ridiculous he made her sound in these imitations, or how many people he made laugh, the mere memory still made him want to kick something. Preferably something that would wipe that know-it-all look off Granger's face.

As a matter of fact, the Slytherin/Gryffindor match was not long away, and the fresh memory of Granger's mockery made Draco more determined than ever to win this time. He would show her _who_ exactly had got in under suspicious circumstances. If the Gryffindors were naive enough not to realise that everyone knew Weasley wouldn't have a place on the team, if he hadn't been best friends with Wonder Boy, they were kidding themselves. Draco had practised harder than ever this year, if he couldn't get Potter expelled, he would at least humiliate him publicly, by catching the snitch right under his nose. And Weasley… maybe he would write him a new song. Or better yet… Draco remembered his first game, when one of the bludgers seemed to be enchanted to go after Potter alone. Maybe he could do something like that? It was worth looking into at any rate. If he couldn't find out what they knew, he could at least win over them. Plus put both Weasley and Potter in the hospital wing. And Granger, she could sit there on the stands, trying to convince anyone who would listen that "they had got in on pure talent."

So, one evening after Quidditch practice, Draco deliberately lingered when the rest of the team was calling it a night. He was just about to open the storage for the balls, when the most unexpected voice made his stomach twitch.  
'Malfoy.' What on earth was _she_ doing down there? She didn't even fly, and the Slytherins had been booked for practise that night. Wasn't the pitch was off-limits for members of the other houses? But he didn't even have time to say any of these things before:  
'It was you, wasn't it?' Granger had her arms crossed over her chest and was looking at him as sternly as a teacher about to give detention to a disobedient student. Everything else seemed to disappear at that moment, everything but her and his growing panic. Realisation had hit him like a club of ice. _She knew_. In one way or another, she had figured it all out, and there was no escape, she had him against the wall and he had no idea how to get out of it. All he could do was deny. He stepped up close to her, challenging:

'Oh yeah? _Prove_ it!'  
She frowned at him but there was something satisfied in her eyes, as well.  
'So, I'm right then. If it wasn't you, you wouldn't even know what I was talking about, would you? But you obviously do know.'  
She had a point, of course, but right now, Draco was too horrified by the reality of the moment, to scold himself for having erased any possible doubt she might have had. How much had she figured out? What conclusions had she drawn, what did she think about him, about his motivations? And _how_ had she figured him out? The thought that he might have done something that might have given him away, was probably the worst of all. Was he that transparent? In that case, who knew exactly how much she –or anyone– had gathered? It wasn't only the Polyjuice… the kiss… but everything after and during… If she _knew_, knew what he had been thinking… been _feeling_… he was _revealed_… entirely revealed…

The notion of being so completely exposed, stiffened him, filled his body with ice, though his cheeks miraculously kept burning. She might not be able to prove anything, but that didn't even seem to matter at the moment. He had still been exposed to _her_, and in the worst-case scenario, she would not only know about what he had done, but also what he had felt, what he had been thinking and dreaming about ever since… And why was she just standing there? Why was she so utterly calm about it? Did she see this as the ultimate chance to humiliate him? Did she expect… what _did_ she expect? Him grovelling? Or worse, she expected him to be some sort of pathetic…. _Weasley_ for her to reject, didn't she? Fear mixed with growing anger, was what woke Draco up from his paralysed state-of-mind. It made him take a leap to save whatever dignity he could.

'Look, I only did it to divert you! Because you were about to find out! You thought I looked surprised, remember?' He had almost lost all control over his voice, but he kept going. She shouldn't let her imagination run away with her!  
'Do you think… do _you_ think for one second that I would… that I would want to…that I would voluntarily touch -' And he stopped himself right there, because he saw her expression change, colour draining away from her face in an instant, until it came back with full force. And he wished the floor would open and swallow him whole. In fact, any other place seemed appealing at this moment, he would even have preferred being chased by monsters, in the middle of the night, alone, in the Forbidden Forest, and he would run away, if his feet would only let him. Because the look on Granger's face was telling. She hadn't known. _She had been talking about the transaudio!_

'You.' It was barely higher than a whisper, but just as accusing as someone pointing out the culprit to an angry lynch mob. For a moment it seemed like she was just as paralysed as he was, as the full impact of what he had just revealed, dawned on her. But then the slap hit his face, more forceful than he could remember. She was shouting now:  
'You creep! You disgusting, loathsome, awful, heartless…' She had marked every adjective with a slap, but at "heartless", he seized her hand, and she suddenly went all mute and stiff, like she was shocked that he wouldn't just keep standing there and let her hit him.

And then he did something he wasn't able to explain. Maybe it was because all dignity was gone, he didn't have anything left to lose. Or maybe he wanted to show her that he had more guts than that Weasel Weakling ever would have. Perhaps he just wanted to see if reality could live up to his memory and dreams. Or to prove that he could do whatever he could as Weasley. Or maybe he was just losing his mind. But whatever the reason, the next moment he was grabbing her by the hips, pulling her against him, pressing his lips on hers, invading her mouth with his tongue.

And it wasn't the same at all. She didn't pull away, but she didn't respond either. Not only were their teeth clicking against each other, but it had nothing reminiscent to the sensation that first kiss had had. It was like there was a wall between them, a wall he couldn't break, no matter how hard he tried to. So he let her go, stepping back quite a few steps from her, smoothing out his clothes, pretending the last seconds hadn't happened. He knew she was still standing there, though it took him a while, before he dared looking at her again. When he finally did, she was wearing an expression mixed with disbelief, disgust and caution. She looked at him, without saying a word. Then she wiped her mouth with her hand, as if making a point. There was a burning sting somewhere, but he immediately wiped his own mouth, not to let her know. She began to back away, towards the door, slowly at first, as if hesitant.  
'What's wrong with you, Malfoy?' was the only thing she said, before turning around and exit. Indeed, that was a good question.

She kept staring at him the following days. It didn't matter that he did his best to avoid her altogether, that he carefully kept his gaze from her direction, because he could feel her eyes on him, like they were burning holes on the back of his head. Everyone else was acting normal, though, as far as he could tell, so he assumed she hadn't told anyone. At least he hoped so. It didn't even seem like Weasley or Potter knew, for which he was eternally grateful. He wanted to forget about what had happened, all of it, but it was easier said than done. If he had thought his subconscious would be cleansed after that awful kiss, he had been severely mistaken, she was still etched on the inside of his eyelids when he went to bed, and worse than that, he kept being Weasley, an increasingly more active Weasley at that. And in any case, it was quite hard to forget about either the Polyjuice or the kisses, when the mere existence of Weasley and Granger kept reminding him.

There seemed to be less awkwardness between them now, to his great annoyance. In fact, if he saw a red head anywhere at any time, he could be almost certain that she would be somewhere nearby. Not that he needed to look, because her presence seemed to somehow announce itself to him automatically, making him go roundabout ways to where he was headed, diverting his gaze from her prying eyes. Something was not right with him, and it seemed like it was strongly connected to that Polyjuice Potion. Maybe a Polyjuice Potion could have side effects? Perhaps there were risks of lingering transformation, not on the outside, but on the inside? If that were the case, it could certainly explain a few things. 

Draco didn't want to ask Professor Snape. He was still angry with him for the way he had responded last time he tried to get information. But on the other hand, there were so many things he needed to have explained, the side effects was only one of them. It was curious, to say the least, that he hadn't heard one word about Granger finding the transaudio, and Snape must have noticed, one way or another. In fact, Draco was beginning to wonder if Snape was somehow responsible for Granger finding out, maybe he had let them know that he knew things he wasn't supposed to know, and maybe that had made her search. If that were the case, Draco had all reason to be upset, because it would mean Snape had found out something, and still, from what it looked like, let them get away with it.

Draco hoped he would get some clarity to all these matters, this afternoon when he found himself again in Snape's office.  
'Professor, you know about the transaudio?' For a moment so brief that Draco thought he might have imagined it, Snape looked up at him with something almost resembling sympathy.  
'Yes, I'm afraid it was discovered and destroyed.' Draco frowned. Discovered and destroyed? What did he mean "discovered and destroyed"? Was that all he was going to get? After all the risks he had put himself through? How was it discovered? How did Snape know, and, it hadn't occurred to him until now, but, why had Granger suspected him, Draco, when she hadn't even had a clue about the Polyjuice? And, speaking of which, how long, exactly, had _Snape_ known about the discovery? Had he sat on that information before Granger had searched him out? If he had, why hadn't he warned him?  
'You know she realised it was me, sir?' Draco could barely keep the accusatory tone from his voice. To his relief, he noted a trace of surprise in Snape's expression. But there was something else there, as well, something that he couldn't quite place.  
'Who placed it there, you mean?' Draco did his best not to blush, but he didn't know how well he succeeded.   
'Yes.'  
'Well, she can't prove it. Especially not now.' There was a grim satisfaction in his face when he said this, which Draco couldn't understand at all. Their plan had been completely in vain, how could he just sit there acting so calm? Remembering how little Snape had let out last time, Draco hesitated to ask him now, but in the end he couldn't help himself.  
'What happened, sir? How did she find out?'

Before he got any answer whatsoever, there was a knock on the door, and Potter came bursting in through it. He hadn't even waited for a response. It was something in the way he just went in, that made Draco feel like he had been stabbed. He couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but even when Snape told Potter in no unclear terms, to wait outside, instead of interrupting his time with other students, it didn't go away.

In that one moment, a hundred new questions, most of which he couldn't even put into words, entered his mind, fluttering around inside him, giving his stomach a sense of free falling. Sure, Snape was… like he'd always been… brusque to anyone, but insulting to Potter. And yet… What was going on? Why this familiarity? Why this recognition? What business had _Potter_, behaving like, well… _Draco_? And how could Snape _let_ him… _only_ telling him off? Like he wasn't shocked? And all the other questions came back haunting Draco's mind with full force. And though Draco knew he didn't have anything to go on, no real _reason_ to be suspicious, and yes, probably had blown things out of proportion, he wondered for the first time who the man in front of him was. He was sitting there quiet now, looking back at him in a way that at any other time would have made Draco talk. But right now, he couldn't say anything, just stare back, and wonder exactly what those eyes hid, what those ears would make of anything he said, and how that mouth would use it later.

So Draco ended up excusing himself, leaving Snape to proceed with Remedial Potions, or whatever it was he did for Potter. He didn't need Snape's help anyway. If there were side effects to the Polyjuice Potion, he could probably find something about them in the library.

Draco hadn't even been to the library since that day. Weekday afternoon, it was as crowded as it ever got, and it was far from quiet. Already when he entered, unwelcome memories made themselves known. With any luck, he would get rid of them later that evening. Or, not rid of them, perhaps, but at least they wouldn't invoke any kind of feelings anymore. The more he had thought about it, the more certain he became; it had to be lingering Polyjuice effects. Why else would he be having those disgusting dreams? Not only was he _not_ attracted to Hermione Granger, but what in the world would possess him to dream he was _Weasley_, unless there was magic involved? Searching for a more secluded table, he reminded himself of why there could not possibly be anything worse in the world, than being Ron Weasley. No sane man could possibly want Weasley's family, Weasley's house, Weasley's friends, Weasley's…

Draco stopped short. Glowing as red as his hair, Weasley was sitting just a few tables away, looking ridiculously pleased, and more stupid than ever. Predictably, Granger's bushy head was on the other side of the table. They were holding hands. The table they were sitting at, was only two tables away from…

For a moment he couldn't move. Then, the incredible unfairness of it all, hit him so hard that he almost lost his balance. It was like his feet couldn't be stopped, and he _had_ to go over there, right into their nauseating euphoria, and smash it with his bare hands, break it, stomp at it, stab it.

'Those poor children. Freckles _and_ buckteeth. Not to mention they'll have worse hair than either one of you.' They both jumped in their chairs, turning around to face him. Weasley was on his feet soon enough, facing him, all purple, but Granger, predictably restrained him from jumping at him, to Draco's big disappointment. What enraged him even more was that she deliberately avoided his gaze!  
'What did you have to do, attack him? Tie him down? Or maybe a simple Imperio was sufficient.' he threw at her, viciously, deriving a small satisfaction when her face turned even redder. Weasley was pulling against her grip, and Draco could only hope she would lose it; smashing Weasley's face in seemed like the perfect way to ease the anxiety of the last couple of weeks, or actually, the last couple of months. But her grip was firm, or maybe Weasley was just a show-off.  
'Let's just go,' she whispered, still averting her gaze.

He watched their retreating backs. He would make them go all right, only farther away, away from Hogwarts, away from his life. Snape, apparently, wasn't to be trusted, but he would find another way. Someone else. He didn't know exactly who, or how, but he knew he would regain his dignity, and make them all pay for its loss. Especially Weasley.


End file.
